


Feast or Famine

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:32:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: Kirk has some energy to burn and a Vulcan in his sites. Written in response to the st_tos_kink prompt In my experience, at least, TOS bottom!Spock is a woefully rare creature.My proposed remedy: Kirk fucking Spock, while giving him a handjob, while sucking on his fingers.Bonus if Spock is close to sobbing with pleasure and/or passes out for a bit afterward.





	

It was feast or famine on board the Enterrpise. Either they were zipping from one dangerous and exciting location to the next, or they were sedately floating through the great expanses of the galaxy. Kirk couldn’t take too much of that before he started to long for a hostile planet, mischievous energy beings, shore leave, or even a diplomatic mission. Every eight hours, he checked his orders from Star Fleet, hoping for something new, dreading the inevitable HOLD YOUR CURRENT COURSE. 

 

None of the other crew minded the days—or even weeks—they spent traveling without spotting another planet or ship. They had their own lives to attend to on the Enterprise. Their duties on board the ship, their personal dramas, hobbies, books to read, languages to learn, work to do for that promotion they wanted. They were grateful for any downtime. It didn’t make them nervous. Didn’t make them feel like they had too much energy and nowhere to expend it. 

The only person who might have shared his irritation was Spock. Not because Spock didn’t have anything to do with his time. On the contrary, he had a great many interests to fill the hours, including all the free time he could want in the science department. And if he ever grew bored with that—and he never would because Spock was incapable of boredom—he could just meditate, tuning out the world and turning in on himself to reach enlightenment. Or whatever it was he was trying to reach. Kirk didn’t know. But the reason Spock might have been irritated—as much as a Vulcan could be—was that when Kirk was bored, he turned his attention to his first officer. 

Not that Spock minded being on the receiving end, but even he had his limits. Kirk tried to be respectful of that. He really did. But when he had too much energy, it was difficult to think straight. He’d start to twitch and fidget in his chair, staring at the empty viewer screen, his mind drifting in a hundred directions, to a hundred different people, and then he’d catch movement from the corner of his eye. Spock. And all of his senses—his entire being—would zero in on his first officer and that would be it. There would be no hope of making his wayward thoughts, or his wayward body, behave. 

Kirk would try, though. He’d go to the gym in deck twenty and work out until he was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his muscles were screaming in protest, and his blood was pumping. That _never_ had the desired effect. Instead of pulling his mind from his first officer, he would think about the way Spock made him ache in completely different ways. Then he’d look at the chronometer and try to remind himself that Spock never had a problem going to his quarters once he was preparing for his eight hours of sleep and if he could just wait six more hours…

Sometimes he made it three hours. Sometimes he made it thirty minutes. Once, he did make the full six hours, but by then, he was hard enough to cut glass and while he did get some release, he didn’t get much satisfaction from it. Kirk figured he was doing well as long as he waited until Spock was off-duty. Really, what more could be asked of him? 

Kirk left the gym and resolved to wait until he got out of the ‘fresher before calling Spock. That would be sufficient demonstration of his self-control. Maybe not enough of one to impress Spock, but they couldn’t all be control freaks like the Vulcan…

Kirk didn’t even try to keep the surprise from his face when he keyed open his door and found Spock sitting in his chair in front of the computer. The Vulcan looked up and nodded in greeting. “Jim.” 

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be in the lab or something.” 

“I was.” 

“And then what happened?” 

Spock rose and God, could anybody stand up like Spock? It was ridiculous to be so distracted by the way Spock went from a seated position to standing, but in Kirk’s defense, nobody _could_ stand up like Spock. He closed the space between them, and when Spock stood that close, Jim didn’t even mind that the other man was taller than him. Especially when he caught the unique scent that had always belonged to Spock—it was dry and hot and peppery like the incense he occasionally burned in his room. It made Jim think of the Vulcan sun, and the orange-brown landscapes that held a grave beauty all their own. 

It made Jim want to taste him. 

“And then I felt you and I knew you needed me.” 

Jim lifted the corner of his mouth. “And you always come running when I need you?” 

“Of course, Captain.” 

Kirk had been joking, but Spock was dead serious, and that fact made his abdomen turn to jelly even while his cock hardened. Spock did that to him on purpose. He must have. Jim wanted to kiss Spock until they were both breathless and shaking. Instead, he reached out and the pads of his fingers down the back of Spock’s hand. He shuddered in response—a very proper Vulcan shudder which meant that his shoulders barely moved, but Kirk knew how to read him. Knew exactly what that meant. He stepped even closer, until their chests were touching, and that dry, peppery smelled filled his head. It made his mouth water. 

He thought he would have to make the first move, but Spock surprised him again, this time by touching their lips together. Spock had a peculiar way of kissing. Like he was certain he wasn’t doing it properly, and he wanted Jim to take over and show him the way. It was always a curiously shy gesture that shouldn’t have struck Jim directly in the chest, but it did. It got him every single time, and something a lot like love would slam through him. He knew Spock would feel it on the other side of the bond they shared, and as soon as he did—perhaps he took it as simple approval—his technique would change. Then he would become the Spock that Jim knew so well. The one who was good at _everything_ he did, and always direct in his gestures and actions. 

Jim didn’t stop caressing Spock’s hand. After a great deal of trial and error—which Spock had patiently tolerated—Jim knew just how much pressure to apply to his extremely sensitive fingers. Their skin barely touched, and though Jim didn’t have any of his own telepathic abilities, he still tried to convey as much as possible through that touch. Warmth, love, need, desire. They managed to make it to the bed without breaking contact, and Jim’s mouth tingled from the pressure of Spock’s lips, the occasional—very occasional—scrape of his teeth. He thought that he was going to crawl out of his own skin, and when they finally parted to strip their clothes, he didn’t know if he was grateful for the respite or annoyed at being interrupted. 

Jim was the first to rid himself of his clothes, and he settled on the bed to watch Spock undress, his back against the wall and his legs stretched in front of him. Without taking his gaze from Spock, he grabbed the bottle of lube from the bedside table and poured a good amount directly onto his cock. Spock arched a brow, but didn’t otherwise offer a comment. Sometimes, he wasn’t in the mood for that, and when he offered a small protest, Jim always acquiesced. But this time, Spock didn’t protest at all. 

“Would you like me on your lap?” 

Jim hadn’t really thought about it, but as soon as Spock asked, he realized that was _exactly_ what he wanted. Perhaps the only thing he had ever truly wanted in his entire life. His mouth had gone dry, and words seemed just a little bit beyond his abilities, so he nodded. Spock smiled—though the expression wasn’t one that anybody else would recognize as a smile. It was one of Spock’s non-smiles and how could it go unnoticed by everybody else? Of all of Spock’s expressions—and there were many—that was right up at the top of Jim’s list of favorites. 

Spock straddled his legs, and Jim moaned as the other man’s weight settled against him. He loved it when skin touched skin, mouth touched mouth, but even more than that, he loved the sense of being pinned down. Held. Surrounded. Spock was usually the center of his world, but now he was also the entirety of it. Almost immediately, Spock claimed his lips, and Jim returned to caressing his fingers. His other hand—still slick with lube—was busy elsewhere. He slid his fingers along Spock’s ass, between the cheeks, until he found his tight hole. When was the last time he had sunk into that heat? Normally, he’d be able to pull up the exact date and time, but now he didn’t have enough blood flowing to his brain. It felt like an eternity, and that was a good enough estimation for Jim. An eternity since he pushed past the tight ring of muscle and let Spock’s walls completely sheath him. 

Spock’s moan was so soft that it was more of a vibration than a sound, but it told Jim all he needed to know. Spock wasn’t just agreeing to this because he thought Jim wanted it—he wanted it, too. There was a strong need inside of him, and Jim felt that tugging at his mind. Need that didn’t belong to his own body, but was more pressing than anything Jim felt. 

Spock was going to be the end of him. Jim just knew it. 

He stroked one finger in and out of Spock’s channel, then added a second. He lost track of time as he moved his hand. He liked the way Spock clenched around him, the way Spock moaned into his mouth, the way Spock found new ways to touch him. Normally, any contact at all was too much for the Vulcan, but once he decided he wanted it, then he _really_ wanted it. He pressed every inch of himself against Jim, moving his body to increase the tension, finding new ways to caress Jim without breaking the kiss or using his fingers. Why weren’t they doing this all of the time? Sometimes, he thought he could—retire somewhere and spend every waking moment making love to Spock. 

By the time he added a third finger, his cock was aching, and he was moaning, too. He wanted it to be good for Spock, wanted him to enjoy every second of it, but his patience, which was never great, was starting to wan. He needed to be inside Spock. He needed Spock to clench around him. He needed to absorb the heat of Spock’s body until he thought his own flesh was on fire. 

“Jim…please…” 

_That_ was what he had been waiting for. Not just a plea, but permission. He pulled his fingers free and gripped the base of his cock. Spock stilled, his lips still pressed to Jim’s, though now they weren’t kissing. Spock was just resting there, sucking in deep breaths, almost as though he was trying to steal the oxygen from Jim’s lungs. 

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Jim murmured, very much hoping that Spock would say no such thing. 

He lined his cock up with Spock’s entrance, prepared to slowly slide in to his body, but Spock surprised him by pushing back, forcing Jim’s thick crown past the ring of muscle. Once he felt the heat he could only imagine before, a thread of Jim’s self-control snapped. He thrust his hips up, filling Spock completely. 

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Fuck…Spock. You’re so fucking tight.” Jim had no control over his mouth. Words poured out of him until Spock claimed his mouth and silenced him. He still moaned, though, still tried to form words, and he didn’t want to be the only one. He closed his hand around Spock’s shaft, squeezing hard before sliding his palm down to the base. 

Spock moaned. 

Jim did it again, and was once again rewarded with a moan. A real one. Not just the hint of one. 

“Move, Spock.” He pushed his hips up in encouragement. “Fuck yourself. Show me how you like it.” 

Spock lifted his head. His eyes were already dilated with pleasure, and now they looked completely black. Jim could almost see himself reflected in their depths. He looked a little uncertain, but he did exactly as Jim instructed, using his legs to lift himself until Jim was almost completely free from his body, then sliding down again. Each stroke was long and slow, and Jim supposed he should have known that Spock would find the perfect way to torture him. Which was all the worse because Jim didn’t want it to end. Ever. 

“That’s it…oh that’s it….Spock…don’t stop….” 

Spock closed his eyes, and his head dropped back slightly. He almost looked wanton. Jim could count the number of times he had made Spock lose control on one hand. Spock always seemed to enjoy the sex, but he never really let himself go. He never completely lost it. Jim could always feel a certain tension in Spock’s body—like he feared the consequences of giving himself over to the pleasure. 

Jim resolved that now would be one of those times when he did exactly that. 

With one hand still wrapped around Spock’s length, he used the other to bring Spock’s fingers up to his mouth. Spock didn’t seem to notice until Jim’s tongue darted out, and he licked along the tip of his index finger. Spock jerked, like Jim had just touched him with a livewire, but he didn’t open his eyes, or change the slow, careful rhythm he had set. 

Spock did taste as good as he smelled. His skin was smooth, and he didn’t taste salty. Not like humans. Maybe because he didn’t sweat as much as humans. Jim didn’t know. All he knew was that once he started using his tongue, he didn’t want to stop. He kept his eyes open, watching Spock’s face as he moved his tongue up and down Spock’s finger. Once it seemed like the Vulcan was accustomed to the light contact, Jim closed his mouth around his index and middle fingers. 

“Oh!” 

Jim smiled at the immediate reaction, but didn’t release Spock’s fingers. Instead, he pulled them deeper, sliding his tongue up and down the sensitive skin, and sucking on them like he would have sucked on Spock’s cock. 

“Jim…” Spock stopped moving, and Kirk bucked his hips until Spock got the message and began fucking himself again. Only now, he wasn’t moving quite so slowly or so deliberately. His back arched and his shoulders seemed to have a bit more give to them. Jim sucked harder, and his whole frame jerked again. 

Spock did as he was told for quite a while—much longer than Jim had expected he would be able to. Jim began moving his wrist faster, and Spock followed suit, matching the new rhythm Jim set. When he slowed, Spock slowed. He moved faster and faster until Spock was slamming down on his cock in an almost punishing rhythm. That was what Jim had wanted. The sense of being taken, even though he was the one inside of Spock. 

That was obviously what Spock wanted to, because the moans grew louder and louder. Soon, they couldn’t even be called moans. He shouted Jim’s name, his voice amazing full and loud and echoing in Jim’s brain. It occurred to him that others might be able to hear Spock, but he didn’t give a fuck. The whole ship could be watching them, and that wouldn’t have been enough to stop Kirk. Not while Spock was squeezing around his shaft with all his strength and heat. Not while Spock’s entire body was trembling. 

Jim thought he was going to lose it when Spock lost his ability to speak. He couldn’t form words at all, but that didn’t silence him. He made a sound that Jim had never heard before from anybody. It almost seemed like a cry of pain, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t the typical shout of pleasure, either. It was new and unique and wholly Spock. It sounded like a plea. It sounded like a demand. It sounded like he was going to break and that he never wanted to stop and that he needed to stop. It reverberated through Jim, and he knew he’d never forget it. He’d probably never stop feeling it. He’d wake up in the middle of the night years down the road, and his chest would still be vibrating from the force, from the strength of Spock’s cries. 

Somehow, Kirk held himself back, staying away from the edge while Spock drove him crazy. He needed to feel Spock come around him, and he wasn’t going to stop until he did. His balls were pulled up tight to his body, and the muscles in his abdomen and thighs were tight. He was so close…so close…and his body screamed for that relief. When he thought about filling Spock with his come, it pushed him even closer. The warm, slick liquid erupting into Spock’s ass, easing his entry as he pumped his hips the final time…

“Jim!” 

Jim wasn’t sure what happened. He closed his eyes, but the image of Spock rising above him, his body rigid with pure pleasure, was burned into his mind. The pleasure was burned there, too, as the link between them flared to life with such force that Jim wondered if it would completely burn out the rest of the world, overload their senses. His cock jerked and Spock’s did, too. Not just at the same time, but in the same way, as though Spock was just an extension of his own body. Or he was just an extension of Spock’s. Spock’s fingers twitched, too. He felt the hot come coating his own cock, and painting his stomach, and it felt good. Real. It grounded him, somehow, even as Spock finally, completely, lost himself. The world blurred around him, like gauze had fallen over his eyes, and then went dark at the corners. 

Spock fell forward—collapsed, actually. Jim let his fingers drop from his mouth, but he didn’t release Spock’s cock, or pull from his body. Spock’s forehead rested against his shoulder, and he couldn’t tell if Spock was still awake or not. It didn’t matter. Neither one of them would be moving any time soon.


End file.
